Chapter Thirteen: Wrath Unleashed

At that very moment, a lone rider appeared far down the main road leading directly to Gucheng, kicking up a trail of dust as he sped toward the city. From a distance, his triumphant voice rang out, “Master! Master! I’ve caught him! I’ve caught him!” The tone was thick with pride and boastfulness.

Those on both sides, who had been readying themselves for conflict, were taken aback. What had he caught? And who was this person?

As everyone watched in confusion, the rider suddenly swung the object in his right hand in several circles before hurling it forcefully toward Miao Shilin. Curiosity rippled through the crowd—what was he throwing, and why at Miao Shilin? At that instant, the thing arcing through the sky began to emit the wailing cries of a child. Startled, the onlookers realized that the object so carelessly flung, as if it were mere rubbish, was in fact a small child.

All present were cultivators. Witnessing such callousness, their brows furrowed with disapproval; some, quick-tempered, were already cursing loudly in outrage.

Miao Shilin himself was startled by this behavior. He barked out sharply, “Han Feng, what are you doing?” He had not intended to catch the flying bundle, but hearing the faint cries of a child within, how could he stand by and watch an innocent life dashed to death before his eyes?

Though he had come only for vengeance, not wishing to complicate matters, he was still a cultivator, not without compassion. Even as he questioned the youth, his body acted without hesitation—he sprang lightly into the air, leaping from his horse, and intercepted the bundle mid-flight. As he landed, the sack had already burst apart like a flurry of snowflakes, and in his arms was now the child.

Miao Shilin examined the boy, who seemed stunned with fright—about four or five years old, with a pallid, sickly face. He was utterly bewildered. What was Han Feng up to, throwing a child at him like this? He shot Han Feng a cold, questioning look, awaiting an explanation.

The little boy, still shaken, found himself seized once more. Though his small face was still painted with terror, anger flashed in his eyes as he glared at Miao Shilin, and in a weak but defiant voice, he yelled, “Let me go! Let me go, you loser, you fool, you idiot!”

Atop the city walls, Che Hongshi and his wife had been watching the movements of the Miao family below. Now, catching a glimpse of the child’s face, both were shaken to their core. Ye Hongyu’s voice broke as she cried out, “Wuyou!”

Miao Shilin, seeing the boy curse him upon meeting, darkened his expression and snapped, “Whose wild child are you, to be so ill-mannered?”

At that moment, the youth named Han Feng had arrived at Miao Shilin’s side. Seeing his master’s grim look, he hastily tried to please him. “Master, this child is no ordinary one.” Seeing Miao Shilin’s face grow even darker, Han Feng dared not keep him in suspense. “He’s the son of Che Hongshi and his wife.”

Miao Shilin jolted, his eyes suddenly red with emotion. “Che Yeming?” he asked sharply, but then shook his head. Lately, consumed by his thirst for vengeance, he found himself haunted by the name Che Yeming. Hearing “Che Hongshi’s son,” he had instinctively thought of him. But the child before him was so young and frail—how could he be the notorious Che Yeming?

Just then, Han Feng continued, “Master, he’s Che Yeming’s younger brother, Che Wuyou. I ran into him on the road and brought him here. The brat even said Che Yeming is inside Gucheng right now.”

Hearing his enemy was so close, Miao Shilin could not help but feel a surge of joy. He scowled at Che Wuyou and demanded in a low voice, “Boy, is Che Yeming truly in Gucheng?”

Che Wuyou sensed the old man’s ill intent in asking after his big brother. Since the man was so eager, he decided to spite him by refusing to answer. A stubborn glint flashed across his sickly face as he stared back at Miao Shilin in silence.

From the moment she’d arrived atop the wall, Ye Hongyu had not spoken. Now, seeing her beloved son seized, she lost all composure. She shouted down from the city wall, “You there! How dare you treat my son this way? I swear by all that is sacred, no matter where you flee, I will tear you limb from limb!” Her final words were spoken with such iron resolve that no one could doubt her determination.

Han Feng was enraged by her threat. With her son in his grasp, how could this foolish woman still dare threaten him? Was she not afraid he would kill the boy first? He glared at Ye Hongyu, ready to hurl insults at this brazen woman. But then he met her chilling gaze, cold as ancient ice atop the Tianshan Mountains, and a shiver ran through him. He dared not provoke her further, struck by the sudden conviction that, if he enraged her any more, she would leap down like a madwoman and kill him on the spot, regardless of how many experts stood with him.

Regret gnawed at Han Feng. In his eagerness to show off before the crowd, he had not considered the consequences of provoking such a woman. But now it was too late—he could only hope to rid himself of her by someone else’s hand, for he truly feared he would not escape her grasp alive.

Seeing Han Feng cowed into silence, Ye Hongyu calmed herself somewhat. She glanced at Che Wuyou, who lay pale and weak on Miao Shilin’s horse, looking back in her direction. Though she knew her son could not truly see her, their gazes met, and she could not help but turn away, her heart aching.

Han Feng feared Ye Hongyu, but Miao Shilin cared nothing for her threats. Seeing the grim faces of Che Hongshi and his wife, he felt a surge of satisfaction—anything that caused his enemies distress pleased him. He sneered, “So you care so much for your useless son. But who cared for my son? If you truly love this worthless child, hand over that scoundrel Che Yeming. Otherwise, you’ll be left to bury your own dead.”

Che Hongshi’s face was ashen as he looked at his sickly, untalented child—one he had never valued, now placed so precariously between life and death. An overwhelming, tyrannical fury rose within his chest, as if it would burst forth and set the world ablaze.

“Even if it means mutual destruction, even if the heavens fall and the earth splits, even if I must make an enemy of the whole world—so be it. I will do what I must for Wuyou, as a father should.”

With calm resolve, Che Hongshi raised his hand and commanded, “Open the city gates!” Though his people wondered why he chose to meet the enemy outside rather than defend the walls, no one questioned his determination.

The gates creaked open, and ranks of soldiers marched forth—archers, spearmen, cultivators, gunners.

“Form the array.” The command was simple, but final.

Lines of troops crisscrossed, and nine Immortal-Smiting Cannons formed a great arc, their black muzzles glinting coldly as they aimed directly at Miao Shilin’s party.

“Load with high-grade spirit stones. On my command, prepare to detonate all cannons.” These brief words sent a stir through the crowd. He did not intend to fight—he meant to detonate the cannons with high-grade spirit stones, treasures rare even among great clans, let alone the humble Che family. Clearly, Che Hongshi was willing to spend every last resource, ready to perish together with his foes. After all, when death looms, what use are spirit stones?

The destructive power of detonating so many supreme-grade cannons with high-grade spirit stones was unimaginable—a terrifying resolve, to drag so many to the grave with his child.

Yet the Che family warriors never hesitated. Their eyes shone with resolve as, under the stunned gazes of the crowd, nine rare spirit stones were loaded into the cannons, whose muzzles were now sealed tight with some unknown material.

“Release him. I’ll count to three. If the boy is not freed, detonate the cannons.” Che Hongshi’s voice was calm, as if this were a trivial matter.

Even Lin Feng, proud as he was, did not doubt Che Hongshi’s determination for mutual destruction. He looked to his sworn brother Miao Shilin, the man he respected most in the world.

Zhang Yuan and Zhang Da, who had been silent since arriving at the city, also turned to Miao Shilin. All eyes settled on him—the lives of all present hung on his decision: to release, or not to release?

Miao Shilin’s face was shadowed, his thoughts unreadable.

“One.” The word was short and forceful, without any superfluousness.

Zhang Yuan could hold back no longer. “Brother Miao, let the child go. Your grudge is with Che Yeming, not this boy.”

Miao Shilin looked at Che Wuyou in his grasp, sighed slowly, and closed his eyes, as if resigned to perish together if it came to that. His own child was already dead, his life consumed by hatred. If he could not avenge him, what meaning did life hold?

“Two.” Without hesitation, Che Hongshi called out.

Seeing his elder brother so resolved, Lin Feng sighed and also closed his eyes. As brothers in this life, he would walk with him to the end, even unto death.

Zhang Da’s expression changed. Not only did Lin Feng fail to dissuade his brother, but he was now joining his madness. If they wanted to go mad, he would not stand in their way, but he would not be dragged down with them either. He hurriedly said to Che Hongshi, “Brother Che, please be calm. My brother and I want no part in today’s affair. Please grant us a quarter hour—we will withdraw at once.”

At his words, the Miao family’s warriors grew restless. Seeing someone take the lead, many began to waver. There was no need to sacrifice their own promising lives for another’s quarrel—it was simply not worth it.

Che Hongshi scoffed but paid no mind to these irrelevant people. He turned to look at his brothers-in-arms, at the many familiar faces—aged and young, reckless and steady.

A surge of emotion welled up in him. Could he really remain so calm as he appeared? In the end, he had led his brothers to this desperate pass for his own sake.

His thoughts turned to his sworn brother, “Tiger,” and he wondered where he was now. It was perhaps a blessing he had not returned, for if he were in Gucheng, he would no doubt follow Che Hongshi to death. Unbeknownst to him, Tiger had already been killed by Che Yeming at Balizhen, preceding him on the road to the afterlife.